A Ring
by Gypsy Rose2014
Summary: SPOILERS FOR S3E1! Moving on was the healthy thing to do. The only way to ever find happiness again. But now that he's back, moving on was the worst possible option. WARNING: EXTREME SHERLOLLY.


**A/N: Don't worry, I haven't stopped Small Boys and Sandwiches, but this story would not get out of my head until I wrote it. Be warned! There are SPOILERS contained within! Hope you enjoy. Read and review if you're so inclined!**

There was a strange noise coming from inside the morgue. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and listened, trying to place it. No one was supposed to be here. It was between shifts and the graveyard had not arrived. It was late. Sherlock shouldn't even be there, but he'd left some notes behind and he needed them. Truth be told, he had waited to come until he was sure Molly would be gone. Lately things between them had seemed… awkward, to say the least. She seemed angry with him. Every time he spoke or even when he didn't, her tone was clipped and uncomfortable. He thought they'd finally come to some sort of understanding when she told him about… Tom. _Tom_. Uggh… what a positively ordinary name. Hardly a name for a knight in shining armor. Maybe for the guy that shovels up after the horse. But no matter what, he wouldn't be unkind. He would endure her stories about him and would even make an effort to be pleasant when she brought him around. After all, she was his friend. Isn't that what friends do?

Sherlock pushed open the door slowly, not wanting to startle who or whatever that was inside. As he stepped through, the noise was louder and he could tell—it was most definitely crying. Not the cries of someone who was hurt or scared, but more the whimpering of someone whose tears had almost run dry. Shuddering breaths, sniffles and tiny vocalizations that might indicate pain of a different sort. An emotional sort. He shuddered. _Emotional_. He was starting to understand it now and the more he understood the less he liked it. Of course, once one allowed themselves to have emotions, it was hard to turn them off again. Especially the unpleasant ones like sadness and loneliness.

"Molly? Is that you?" he called, recognizing her form in the darkness. She was sitting on the floor, her back against the lab table, with her knees drawn up. Her face was buried in her hands, as if she had tried to curl herself into a tight little knot so that no one would see her.

Upon hearing her name, her head shot up and she spied Sherlock as he negotiated around the table, coming toward her. "Oh. Hello," she said, wiping her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"I… left something. I thought you'd be gone." She nodded and started to get up. Her foot slipped on a bit of paper on the floor and she sat down hard on the floor. "Are you all right, Molly? Perhaps you should just sit there a minute."

"Don't tell me what I should do," she snapped.

"Sorry… I was just trying to…"

"Well don't."

Sherlock decided that he'd obviously done something to offend her and started to walk away. Then he thought better of it and turned. "Have I done something to upset you, Molly? I mean, I'm often pretty thick about such things, but if I've said or done something… I don't remember."

"You came back."

"I told you. I left some notes here earlier and I need them…"

"No, stupid," she sighed, the quiver returning to her voice. She rolled her eyes at her own silliness. "You came back. Why did you have to come back?"

Realization suddenly dawned on him. She meant that he came back to London, not to the morgue. "I thought… that's what… I don't understand."

She looked up at him and suddenly began to cry again. Glistening tears bubbled up in the corners of her eyes and tumbled down her cheeks before she could stop them. "That day. After the… after you…" She couldn't even say it. "I saw you one last time at the back door. You were about to climb into Mycroft's car and I ran over to say goodbye. I asked you... Do you remember?"

"You asked if you would ever see me again."

"Yes. Do you remember what you said?"

"I said no."

"And yet here you are," she said, laughing bitterly. "Do you have any idea what that felt like? See, even though I knew you were alive and safe… I grieved right along with everyone else. You were dead to me anyway. I had to think of you as dead. It was the only way to sleep. The only way to finally put it… put _you_… to rest."

"Do you want me to go? I thought you of all people would be happy." Sherlock couldn't stop the haughty air from his tone. He understood why people were upset with him, but they all seemed to omit the part about him doing this for them. Didn't they understand his sacrifice? After all, he'd abandoned everything he'd ever known. It wasn't easy for him either.

"I am happy," she cried. "And angry. And confused." She pulled her ring off. The new addition to her finger that looked so unfamiliar. "I just don't know if I can do it. I have to give this back, you know." She balled the ring up in her fist and put her head down again. In seconds, she was sobbing. Ugly, painful sobs that shook her shoulders, splashing tears on the tile floor beneath where she sat. Sherlock sat down beside her and she immediately leaned against his shoulder, her whimpers muffled by her hands.

"I am sorry, Molly."

"Are you?" she asked, not looking up. "I can never tell if you mean what you say."

"It's true. I'm a manipulative, insufferable git, but I really meant that last one." He brushed a hand through her hair so she'd look up. "I am so sorry, Molly. And not just for putting you in such a horrible position, but for the last several years. I've been abominable to lots of people, but you probably most of all."

She sniffled and scrubbed the back of her hand across her nose. "It's all past. Doesn't matter."

Sherlock smiled. "You can't bring yourself to just be pissed off at me can you?"

She shrugged, opening her hand and staring down at the ring. "Tell me what to do, Sherlock. You were always so good at that. Telling me what to do."

"About what?"

"About this. About Tom."

"Serve him on toast…"

"Sherlock," she sighed. "Be serious."

He smirked. "I don't know, Molly. And I can't really give you advice because no matter what I say, it will be wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if I say to call him up and dump him, you'll say I'm being cruel. If I say to put the past behind you and marry him, you'll think…" He stopped, pushing his fingers through his hair. "I don't know what to tell you, Molly."

They were silent for a moment, watching the shadows move across the tiny round windows on the double doors. "He's nice."

"Who?"

"Tom."

"Oh."

"He's considerate and sweet. He sends me flowers and takes me to the cinema and goes to my flat to cook dinner so it's waiting when I get home. There's absolutely nothing wrong with him. And believe me, I looked. I spent our entire first date examining the scuff marks on his shoes and the evenness of his fingernails, searching for some sign that he wasn't perfect. And before you say a word, it did not escape my notice that he bears a slight resemblance to you."

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"You were thinking it. And anyway, it wasn't intentional." She laughed and laid her head against Sherlock's shoulder once more. "There is nothing wrong with him. He's exactly the sort of person that someone like me should marry."

"Except…"

Molly sat back and stared into his eyes. For once she didn't avoid his gaze or look away. Her intensity almost made him nervous, but he held her gaze. "Except he isn't Sherlock Holmes. And that was okay when I was never going to see you again. And this is going to sound pathetic, but since I'm already embarrassing myself, I may as well go all in, eh? But I would rather spend the rest of my life getting you coffee and hoping, then giving up my dreams and settling into a life that was a little less… brighter. Sparkier. Just… less." She spun the ring on her fingertip once more. "If I feel this way, then I don't love him. So I have to give this back. I can't damn a nice guy like Tom to a life where his wife is in love with someone else. I will never be able to love him the way he deserves because your shadow will always… _always_ be there."

Sherlock was silent for a while, letting her words settle into his brain and take hold. He concentrated on her warmth against his arm. The even cadence of her breath as she relaxed in the aftermath of saying all the things she'd needed to for years. She'd broken the dam and now that the initial rush was over, the waters of her subconscious were calm. Sherlock wished he could say the same. "Molly… I don't know what to say…"

"There's a first."

"I can't promise you anything, Molly. I want you to be happy and I'm not sure I can make that happen. If I'm even capable of..." He took her hand and held it tightly in his. "I want someone to come into your life and sweep you off your feet. Someone who can draw me from your mind like a poison. And if Tom's not that person, then he isn't. And you're right. You have to let him go."

"And what about you? Am I really so… undesirable?"

Sherlock chuckled. "Not in the slightest. On the contrary, if ever I was to… allow myself to fall for someone…" He stopped. He didn't want to give her false hope and he didn't trust himself to deliver on his own promises. Or if he was even promising anything.

"Have you ever been in love, Sherlock?"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

Molly laughed. "You really wouldn't know, would you?"

"If you mean, have I ever felt the need to put someone else's needs ahead of my own, then yes. You of all people should know that. But I'm not sure it's the same thing."

"Did you love Irene Adler?"

"No." There was no hesitation in his voice whatsoever. "A rush of lust. The flutter of curiosity. Interest. But no love. The world is more interesting with someone like her in it. But her greed and superficial intelligence bored me after a while."

"Did you see her again…you know… after?"

"We had dinner."

Molly sighed and stared down at her hand, still clasped in one of Sherlock's. "The other day, when you asked me to go with you. To solve crimes. You said that you were saying thank you. What did you mean by that? Was I just a substitute John?" She shook her head. "I just don't get you most of the time."

"You were not a substitute John. I thought spending time with you might make you happy and I wanted to do something for you to make you happy. To say thank you."

She squinted at him, crinkling her nose. "So you asked me to go to crime scenes with you? I think dinner would have been easier, Sherlock."

"As ever you see but do not observe, Miss Hooper."

"What do you mean?"

Sherlock turned, his eyes going green with the ferocity of his glare. "That was the most intimate thing I could think of. And you accepted, so what does that tell you?" Suddenly his mouth was dry and he felt his pulse flutter. Just slightly. Just enough to thrum gently beneath the skin so that it was barely audible. He inhaled deeply but for some reason he couldn't seem to get enough air. Before he could stop himself, he'd kissed her. Hands clasped on either side of her face, pulling her in to receive him. Their mouths moved against one another, sure and longing. Molly opened her mouth to breathe and he took full advantage, slipping his tongue between her lips and tasting the bittersweet flavor of relief. It was only a moment and then it was over. He pulled back slightly, not wanting it to end, but knowing he was going too far. He could feel her eyelashes flutter against his cheek in that last moment. "I… can't promise anything, Molly. I'm erratic and manic and rude. I have absolutely nothing to offer you. I couldn't ask you to throw away happiness on a possibility. I'm not ready…"

"I know."

"Molly?" His lips brushed lightly against hers once more.

"Yes?"

"Care to use my phone?" He held up his mobile.

"For what?"

"You'll need to call Tom."


End file.
